


Pretty Fucking Princess

by sumomomochi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crossdressing, Cyber!Sex, Lolita, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumomomochi/pseuds/sumomomochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TG : what do you think of my new outfit nitram<br/>TG : arent i a pretty fucking princess</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Fucking Princess

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has invited adiosToreador [AT] to a video pester! ACCEPT / DECLINE --   
AT : uH, dAVE?  
TG : just accept it bro  
TG : and be amazed as your eyeballs ice over like theyre back with the woolly mammoths and lisping sloths and shit  
\-- audiosToriador [AT] accepted the invitation to a video pester! --

You are TAVROS NITRAM, fail troll extraordinaire. Currently, you are EIGHT ALTERNIAN SWEEPS and harboring a secret flushed crush on a particular cool kid, one DAVE STRIDER. You are always a little uncomfortable video chatting with the human, as he rags on you much worse when he can see how badly his words make you blush. Sometimes, however, he isn't wearing a shirt and as secret as your crush may be, you aren't afraid to admit (albeit only to yourself) that the view is very nice.

This time around, Dave's face starts out frighteningly close to the camera. He's obviously standing, leaning over and towards his computer in order to type to you. You can hear his keys clacking away rapid fire as he writes his next message to you. The clacking stops and he steps back, straightening up, just seconds before you receive his message.

TG : what do you think of my new outfit nitram  
TG : arent i a pretty fucking princess

You stare, speechless, as he twirls, his poofy pink skirt spinning out even farther with the motion. He does look remarkably like an EARTHEN PRINCESS, clad in what might possibly be the frilliest, pinkest, most princess like dress he could find. The human even has a miniature crown propped atop his pale hair. His iconic (and apparently, ironic, although you've never quite gotten that) shades ruin the look, however, clashing terribly with the delicate lace and ruffles of his dress.

"So bro," Dave practically purrs, his southern drawl pixelated through the speakers, "really, what do you think? This ironic enough to get your Alternian goat?"

Your blood pumping organ catches up with what's going on and sends copious amount of copper blood to your cheeks. You sputter, and type back, not quite trusting your voice currently.

AT : yOU, uH, ROCK THAT,,,  
AT : tHAT DRESS IS, uH, SERIOUSLY SICK  
AT : yOU SHOULD PROBABLY, UH, CALL FOR AN AMBULANCE  
AT : aND YOU'RE, uH, lAYING DOWN THE IRONY SO, uH, THICK THAT i COULD SEE IT FROM, uH, fROM SPACE  
AT : THAT IS, iF i WAS, uH, sTILL IN SPACE  
AT : WHICH i'M NOT

There's the barest twitch at one corner of his mouth. You're not quite sure which side, his left or right, as you're not quite sure if his webcam is set up to mirror the image, like yours is.

Dave leans over, typing again. The video chats between the two of you always seem to end up like this. You're not quite sure of the point, actually, since neither of you actually _talk_ to carry on your conversation like you're supposed to.

You hear him hit the enter key, watch him as he stands back, observe the way he rolls his shoulders and the slight defiant set to his jaw. Were he not decked out in his shades (and ironic coolkid-ness), you imagine he would be focusing his cherry red eyes somewhere up and to the left of his monitor.

TG : so are you ready for the show of your life, nitram  
TG : because it's time for me to get my sparkly kawaii desu uke princess on

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, your fingers posed above your keyboard. Sometimes, his irony and human slang confuse you, and you go to say so, except he's pulling loose the ribbon tied into a bow at his collar. Somehow, even though it's pink and frilly and hilariously awful, he manages to make tugging it from around his neck sexy. You bite the inside of your cheek and force yourself to keep your hands on your keyboard.

He drops the ribbon and moves to the buttons on his blouse, undoing them from top to bottom, slowly revealing a sliver of that pale skin you find so appealing. Nimble fingers reach the last button, the front of the shirt falling away completely as he shrugs it off his shoulders. The blouse slides down his arms, catching at his elbows, as he slides his hands down the V of his prominent hipbones.

His skirt sits high on his waist, obscuring the curious dip in his stomach the humans call a "belly button", but with the way his hands smooth over the skirt, he's able to highlight the tent his bulge makes in the fabric. You whimper quietly, fingers flexing against your keyboard, sharp claws catching in the gaps between keys. He's staring directly at you (probably, you can never quite tell with those shades of his). And then he starts swaying his hips. It's just a slight movement, like he's keeping time to some internal soundtrack, and it is HOT. One hand cups his bulge through the skirt, fingers pulling pink fabric into tight folds that cause the hem to flair out even further than before. The other hand slides across his hips to his side, where you assume the fastenings are.

You find you are correct when a short moment later, the skirt slides off his hips, revealing a white, see through underskirt. You're sure the article of clothing has a proper human name but you don't bother looking it up. Or asking. You don't want to interrupt Dave and the glorious STRIP TEASE he's doing for you. For some reason. Not that you're complaining. Even if it's just to get at you in some ironic fashion.

Anyways.

Under the white skirt thing, you can just barely see that Dave is wearing panties. Which, from your countless hours spent reading up on the human culture, you know is not generally part of the male attire. Really, the whole outfit is out of place in the human gender spectrum, but whatever. That's not THE POINT. The point is, you really want the human to ditch the other skirt, so you can get a better look at his slim hips and hard alien bulge so scantily clad.

He makes no move towards the waist band of this layer, however, much to your chagrin. Instead, he continues to fondle himself, further obscuring your view (in a way that's particularly nice, you must admit). A small, low noise filters through your speakers, and you swallow hard as it sends a spike of arousal straight to your groin. You drag your eyes up his body, lingering at his toned stomach and defined collar bone, all the way to his face. You can just barely make out his computer reflected in his shades, and under them, a faint pink tinge across his cheeks. You can't quite help the small, knowing smile that graces your lips.

He's enjoying himself. He may still hold onto his default poker face expression, but that blush he can't hide.

Then he licks his lips, and you just _know_ he's making eye contact. This makes your own blush rise up with a vengeance, your bulge fully unsheathed and straining at the fly of your jeans.

"What would you like this naughty princess to do for you, Ojii-sama?" he asks, wryly. Even through your computer, though, you can hear how breathless he's become.

You open your mouth to say something, then close it, awkward and unsure of yourself. Then you repeat the motion a couple of times, flushing darker and darker each time until you give up on vocalizing your request and hastily type it out instead.

AT : tAKE OF THE, uH, THE WHITE ONE TOO, pLEASE?

He quirks one eyebrow up at you, his faint smirk tilting at his lips again. Your lips purse in a half pout as you look away, entirely embarrassed. Rufio _tsk_ s at you for daring to let your awkward self look away from this amazing, once in a life time show.

"Hey. Now's not the time to go third grade on me like a pansy, Toreadork."

Your eyes snap back to him on screen.

The tilt of his jaw and curve of his lips tell you he's amused. You stutter an apology, just barely managing to not avert your eyes again. He shrugs and shimmies out of the white skirt, layers of fluff and lace falling down his slim white thighs.

Dave is left in white panties, emblazoned with neon pink hearts, and white stockings with matching neon pink bows. And some strap-y apparatus that appears to be attached to the stockings. You're not quite sure. You never had much interest in human lady undergarments. Until now, of course, and only on Dave.

You can also see the tip of his bulge poking out from the waistband of the panties, laying flat against his stomach. The video stream's picture quality isn't good enough for you to get a good look at it, but you can tell it's hard and flushed and probably leaking copious amounts of genetic material that you can't see because, for some reason, human bodily fluids are all different colours.

One of his hands, the one on the left of your screen, slides up his chest, fingers stroking along his skin, pausing to tweak at one of the weird pink nubs on his chest ("nipples", you remind yourself) before continuing to climb. Fingers stop at his lips, brushing over them as they part, pink tongue coming out to lick at them, coaxing them into his mouth as though they _weren't_ part of his own anatomy, and you swallow hard.

He slurps and sucks at his fingers, making exaggerated (but still sexy) moans. You can't help but imagine those plush, human lips pressed against your bulge, pink tongue lapping at the delicate flesh. You can almost see this happening, in your minds eye, and boy. That's a really hot image you've got rolling through your head.

You want to touch yourself, to squirm out of uncomfortably tight jeans and damp boxers and palm your own hard bulge in much the same way Dave is, but... you aren't entirely sure if that would be OKAY. Sure, Dave is putting on quite the show with the way his fingers are caressing himself through those little white panties, and sure, it's an entirely reasonable reaction. It still doesn't feel quite right though, too awkward and embarrassing for you to to do much besides rut up slightly against empty air.

The way you shift in your seat causes the tip of your bulge to find it's way out the fly of your shorts and the zipper of your jeans introduces itself in a fairly unpleasant manner. You hiss in pain, one hand falling to your crotch to pull the offending article of clothing away.

"This shit get too hot for you over there, Nitram?" Dave asks, amused. You glance up from where your gaze had fallen (on your crotch) to see a pair of pale fingers dipped into those entirely appealing panties of his and smirking pink lips. You make an unintelligible sound that he apparently takes as a confused groan (somehow). "Go ahead and touch yourself, bro. I wanna see you spank that one eyed alien weasel of yours."

You sputter, further confused. You don't have a weasel, of either Earthen or Alternian variety. And even if you did, you're sure it wouldn't have only one eye. And you probably wouldn't spank it either.

Apparently, this time Dave does get your facial cues, clarifying, "Your dick, Nitram. Get with the program."

You look down at your hand, still placed on your crotch, layers of denim pinched between your fingers to pull them away from your groin, and connect the bizarre human slang to its meaning.

"Oh."

Now you just need to figure out if the human is just messing with you or is, for once, actually serious and unironic (or possibly still ironic; you'll never fully get his motives for irony).

But he's still touching himself, staring deadpan at the camera, fingers stroking slowly though fabric and what the hell, your hand is already there anyway. The other joins it, undoing fastenings and tugging denim from under you. You leave your jeans around mid thigh, just under where flesh transitions into metal, and poke one hand through the fly of your boxers. You're careful to keep your claws away from sensitive flesh, cheeks bronze and eyes carefully averted. You're still watching the screen out of the corner of your eyes, but just barely.

You see him step towards the desk again, the camera cutting off his head and most of his thighs, until you're left with a close up of his torso, one hand playing with his bulge, the other typing, the muscles connected to that one flicking and shifting as his fingers fly across the keys. The clacking is peppered liberally with a collection of soft, breathy moans that you can hear so much better now that he's closer to the mike.

TG : dont be shy bro  
TG : I want to see your face  
TG : watch me with those big innocent cow eyes while i jerk my meat to dirty fucking thoughts of you  
TG : or maybe dirty thoughts of fucking you

Your bulge quivers in your hand, your body reacting to Dave's words in ways that would make even Eridan blush. The grip you have on your organ tightens, the pressure change enough to make you gasp, and you bring your eyes back up to the screen, then up further, to where your cam is set up. Dave steps back just in time to see this, his hand stuttering in it's rhythm.

Your eyes drop back to the screen, which is far more interesting then the lens of your camera, what with the mostly naked Dave showing there. Dave squeezes himself through the white cotton wrapping that is his panties. He moans for you, low and lewd, and you swallow hard, biting back your own noises. Sharp teeth clamp down on a black lip, drawing blood. This is not an unusual occurrence for you. Quite the opposite in fact. When you--how does Dave put it again? Spank it? Something along those lines--you often end up biting through your lip. Or sometimes your tongue. It's an automatic reaction that you have to keep yourself from making much noise during your.. activities.

You stroke yourself, your bulge wriggling in your grasp. The tip rubs against the starched cotton of your boxers. Your breath hitches at the stimulation--your warm palm contrasting with the feel of the fabrics weave against your most sensitive flesh. Your eyes drop to half mast, half focused on Dave's image still. His hips sway for you, his fingers tugging the white panties down slightly for better access. You admire the way his bulge juts stiffly out from his body. The organ is similar enough to yours, but the xenobiological differences are obvious. Even after all this time, you still find it weird that they don't really _move_.

His bulge twitches, as if trying to prove your thoughts wrong. It's interesting to watch, not to mention entirely erotic. It's less a wiggle, like the way yours moves, and more of a jerk, a strong flex you can tell comes from the base and you can't help but imagine how it would feel in you. Your nook twitches and trembles at the thought, and you let out a soft moan.

"Enjoying yourself?" Dave asks, southern drawl taunting and just a bit needy. You nod dumbly, lips parted. You run your tongue along your lips, picking up the half coagulated blood dotting one. Dave hums, his human fingers wrapping around his shaft, and the fluidity of his stroking is amazing.

"What do you want?" He asks you, his voice soft. He sounds entirely serious, for once. No hidden layers of sarcasm and irony, which, in itself, might be ironic.

Your mind reels. You want so many things.

_I want you to tongue fuck my mouth with that sharp witted_ weapon _you wield_ you think, the words falling into your think pan to fry with a surprising level of prose.

_I want that alien bulge of you in me_ , you mentally add, _or maybe my bulge in your alien vagina-nook thing, either is fine_.

_I want to bite down until you bleed and writhe under me_.

_I want you to claw and clutch at me_.

_I want that face you hold to drop. I want you to moan and squirm and want me as bad as I want you_.

You lick your lips again and groan, "You."

His breath hitches--you can hear it. He leans forward, bending slightly at the waist, and his hand speeds up.

"How."

Your cheeks positively burn at this. You're flushed dark and thoroughly embarrassed. You humor him none the less. "Um, on, on your back." You're surprised at how decisive your tone is, despite your stutter.

He groans at this and murmurs, "You fucking pervert." His lips have tilted into a more obvious smirk, one bordering on a real smile. It's crooked, one side markedly higher than the other, but it's beautiful and suits him to a T.

"You, uh, apparently like it, so don't, don't complain."

"Heh, I'm not, trust me."

You chew on your lip a little, copper blood welling up once more, as you muster the courage to reply once more.

"Um, uh, well, what, what do you want?"

He smirks, his hand slowing to a stop while he thinks. He licks his lips and you're hypnotized by his tongue. He rolls his jaw, as though he's mentally testing out the words, tasting them, making sure they're just right.

"I want you to ride me like a mechanical bull, Toreadork. I wanna be the Kirk to your hot alien ass."

You gape, blushing clear to the tips of your ears. If your horns could flush as well, you're sure they'd be a nice copper brown by now.

"I want you to stand up on your crazy robo legs and show me that gross tentacle dick of yours."

You sink further in your chair, the hand on your bulge also stilling while you bring your free hand up to cover your face.

"Come on bro, don't leave me hanging. Bring out your dick so we can high five that shit."

That... doesn't really make any sense, but ok. You give your bulge a squeeze as you muster up some courage.

"Don't make me beg, dude. That's not chill. Pour some anti freeze on this shit so we don't end up ice cubes in some douche's drink."

That makes even less sense. You drop your head onto your desk and make a sound halfway between a laugh and a keen. He's making you want to do your damndest to break his facade, make him moan and squirm and seriously _beg_. That would be unbelievably hot.

"Fuck bro," he breathes. You assume it's in response to the noise you made. You look up.

Dave is fisting his bulge hard and fast, his free hand bracing himself against the desk, palm flat on the wood. His mouth is hanging open, pink lips moist. His cheeks are flushed darker than you expected. You squeeze yourself little harder, stroking along the length of your bulge with your thumb, and this time, you don't hold back the sound that bubbles up from your windtube. He stutters out a moan in turn.

"Do, do you really want to, uh, see?" You ask softly. He nods on your screen, fingers tight around his bulge.

"Oh god, yes."

You flush dark at the neediness in his confirmation, snaking your hand out from your boxers. You squirm out of said article of clothing, eyes averted shyly lest you lose your nerve, and stand. Your metal prosthetics clank as you move, and you shift your hips in such a way that the knees lock. You're very thankful Equius included that sort of function in this pair. The constant clang that happened whenever your legs shook was awful.

He sucks a breath through his teeth seconds after you stand. You swallow your embarrassment away and look up at him. Or, well, the image of him on your screen. And it's more looking down at him, since you're quite a bit taller than your husktop at the moment.

Your camera is pointed directly at your bulge. You attempt to not facepalm.

You fail. You do, however, execute a pretty fantastic x2 FACEPALM COMBO.

You also don't sink back into your chair and die from embarrassment. You hardly have to look at the screen to know that Dave's enjoying the view. After quickly adjusting the screen portion of your husktop to offer a more all-encompassing view (including your spectacularly flushed face), you step back, much like Dave did, and resume touching yourself. You're still uncomfortable about him seeing you like this, so that saps away some of your arousal.

But then Dave moans and it takes all you have left not to let go right then. A fair amount of genetic material dribbles out of you, despite your best efforts, dripping down your thighs and oozing over your fingers. You don't mind too much. Like most trolls, you wear almost exclusively black, so there's no worries about stains, and the extra lubrication your fluids provide is rather nice. It allows you to thrust into your hand a little more firmly without fear of damaging the delicate flesh.

Dave lets out a string of words, mindless rambles that aren't entirely audible, but you do manage to make out, "Fucking hot, Nitram," a fair amount of "oh god"-s, and quite a few "fuck yes"-s. There might have also been a please in there, but you're not entirely sure.

His obvious pleasure has you shaking in your steel toed legs. You moan at him in turn and his word spew dissolves into a series of "fuck"-s, that one word being repeated, steadily getting more desperate and needy. You, yourself, are panting, teetering almost uncomfortably close to the edge of orgasmic bliss.

You find you're intensely fond of how thick Dave's Southern twang gets when he's this aroused. It's extremely sexy how his accent colours everything that falls from his lips, even the way he moans. And he's moaning quite frequently now, a spattering of words peppering the sounds he makes.

And then he groans your name. Just "Tav", but the way he drawls out that single consonant has got to be the sexiest thing to ever flow through your auditory holes and across your think pan and oh gog.

You bolt, your pants around your ankles. You manage to wattle to the ablution trap in record time, kicking your pants and boxers off before all but falling into the basin of the washing apparatus. It's rather crude but you didn't exactly have a chance to arrange a, a bucket to be close at hand when this all started.

You lean heavily against the tiled wall as your orgasm rips through you, genetic material pouring out of you, pooling under your knees before flowing down the drain. You shudder, biting clean through your lip, and moan Dave's name. You give your bulge one last squeeze before slumping against the wall with a sigh.

And then you realize how you left Dave. You curse under your breath, strip off your shirt, and flick on the water to wash the sticky residue of your pleasure off. You allow yourself barely a minute to get clean before you're making you're way back to your respite block. You don't bother with your clothes. You do, however, plop into your four wheeled device so you can remove your prosthetics and dry them correctly. First, you roll over to your husktop. The first thing you notice is that the video chat has been closed.

TG : way to ditch  
TG : you sure know how to treat the ladies dont you nitram  
TG : just getting to the good parts and bam  
TG : youre gone  
TG : off running like im at the gog damned horse track  
AT : sORRY, dAVE  
AT : i, uH, dIDN'T HAVE A CHANCE TO, uH, tO ARRANGE FOR THE, uH, gOOD PARTS  
TG : so you ran off to fetch a bucket  
AT : iT WAS MORE ME, uH, KNEELING IN THE ABLUTION TRAP, iF THAT, uH, mAKES YOU FEEL BETTER

You flush at your own words, a little embarrassed at admitting to what you did. Dave doesn't reply. You fidget, worried. You hope you didn't gross him out.

AT : uH, dAVE?

Still nothing. You wait a little longer. Then :

TG : []phtrgwselphtr5fgk,mxtedc nbjil.ygkbgvc bnv **TG : ;l,m lkjmnkljmn**  
AT : ?  
TG : got spunk all over my keyboard  
AT : gROSS  
TG : yeah a little  
TG : brb need to clean this shit up proper


End file.
